


metaphorical porn

by toricmassacre



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bulges and Nooks (Homestuck), M/M, Masturbation, Metaphors, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, This Is STUPID, Troll Anatomy (Homestuck), its literally just karkat getting off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:47:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28261869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toricmassacre/pseuds/toricmassacre
Summary: the control was what made him so excited. he knew where everything was in his body, his mind, his space. he knew what was wrong and what was right. in his body, he had control.he wanted the control. he craved it, needed it. it was what kept him alive, for this small period of time in his day-to-day activities which were always unpredictable. always out of his control. he finally had a way to get that control back.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	metaphorical porn

**Author's Note:**

> its legit just karkat jerkin it with a bunch of metaphors lol

karkat rutted against his own palm, the damp fabric of his jeans creating delicious friction on his aching bulge. ‘oh, fuck,’ he mumbled to himself, biting his shirt to not be too loud. it was so good. unbuttoning his jeans hastily, he swiped a few fingers against the tip of his bulge to collect some of the natural lubricant his body produced and pressed his fingers to his sensitive nook. 

while his other hand was getting to work taking off his jeans, he pressed his fingers into wet, warm heat and moaned, long and loud. “fuuuuuuuckkkkk.” he swore he could’ve heard someone knocking at his door before pausing and walking away. good, they should take the fucking hint to not interrupt him. he pushed his thick fingers into himself generously, the sensation incredible. the bundle of nerves he loved so much were so close, so close and—

he cried out, almost a shriek at how loud and shrill and piercing and pleasured the noise sounded. it was humiliating, but the thought of someone catching him like this brought even more excitement. his fingers dipped further in, rubbing and catching and feeling that hot, fiery bundle of nerves to the point karkat was slumped over, tears rolling down his cheeks in overstimulation. his body was on fire, he was burning, and oh god this was hell but its so good, fuck its so good

the edge seemed closer and closer and more enticing than ever, the bickering realm of it’s beauty and sin and depravity so inviting and delicious, ripe for the taking. it was almost too good to be true. he stroked his candy red bulge, simultaneously thrusting his fingers in and out, over and over again brushing and rubbing that bundle of nerves so fucking well. after all, nobody knew his body as well as he did.

the control was what made him so excited. he knew where everything was in his body, his mind, his space. he knew what was wrong and what was right. in his body, he had control. he wanted the control. he craved it, needed it. it was what kept him alive, for this small period of time in his day-to-day activities which were always unpredictable. always out of his control. he finally had a way to get that control back.

he loved it. the feeling of wanting. of craving, of needing. he loved it. the depravity. the vilest noises he made. the way his candy red mutant fluids seeped into himself, so far deep through skin and bone and flesh and organ and mind that he mixed with it, grew with it until it consumed him and he became all of it, he became everything. he loved it.

his fingers twitched inside himself, still sliding in and out as he rutted harder and grinded and sobbed. his bulge was wrapped around his wrist so tight his circulation must’ve been cutting off. it was so, so good. he thrusted his fingers and flexed his hand and “oh, FUCK!” 

he was coming down and down and down and down into eternal abyss and heaven and hell and purgatory and angels and it was so much. he couldn’t speak. couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, not when everything was on fire and burning and alive. he was alive.

red seeped and dripped from every hard surface. the bed was tainted with the disgusting mutant colour, white sheets turned pink. it was horrible and vile and disgusting and beautiful. he created this, he did this. he made himself feel like this.

and sometimes, thats all he really needs.


End file.
